Out of His Misery
by Jeanny
Summary: What if Spike had chosen Dru over Buffy in Crush? A challenge response. (warning: Character Death)


Title: Out of His Misery

Author: Jeanny

Feedback/Email: jeannygrrl@hotmail.com Feedback is appreciated!

Spoilers: Season 5 Through Crush

Rating: PG-13

Season: BtVS S5

Character: Spike

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., UPN and any one else with a legal binding claim to the shows and/or characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: What if Spike had chosen Drusilla over Buffy in Crush? (A response for In Another Life Challenge)

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*Dru's right. She's ruining me. Keeping me back, making me less than...it's not the chip, it's her. It's all her. She's done something to me. S'got to stop.*

He had planned to take Dru down so that he could use her to try to get through to the Slayer. Try one more time to make her understand how he felt. He looked down at the crumpled form of the blonde and forced himself to turn away, then to walk away. Trembling, he fumbled for a cigarette as Dru moved in with a delighted giggle. 

He'd always enjoyed the sound of a neck breaking, almost wet and yet dry as kindling at the same time. This time it made him want to vomit. He lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag, letting the smoke fill the sudden emptiness. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited to feel strong and powerful. 

He waited.

The coppery smell of blood filled the air, with that special spiciness that he remembered. Her blood. Slayer's blood. How long he'd dreamt of tasting it. And now, finally...

He waited. 

He felt Dru's arms encircle him from behind. She forced him to turn towards her. Towards it. Towards the body.

*No, no, Buffy...*

"You need to drink, while the body's still warm...it's what you need to cure you. Poor Spike, poor, sick puppy," his sire finished sadly, with no sense of irony.

*Don't want to see this, don't...I don't...*

"I...I don't..." Spike mumbled. He couldn't stop her from making him...he'd forgotten how strong she was. And maybe there was part of him that had to see.

Maybe if he saw...

"You need to be strong again..." Dru whispered, propelling him towards the tangle of limbs, the blonde hair fanned out. So beautiful. So dead. 

He saw.

Closer. With a surprisingly steady hand, Spike rolled her onto her back and cringed. There was blood matting her hair, her blue eyes open and unseeing. He felt his true face emerge and bit back a whimper. Now was not the time to show Dru just how weak he really was. 

Maybe if he drank...

He looked at her for a long moment, mentally alternating between apologies and accusations that never passed his lips. He closed his eyes as he bent forward. 

He drank.

Her life poured over his tongue, tart and tangy and ultimately bitter. She was his beloved, consecrated vessel of his fall and redemption, and he drank deep of her, drank until the flow was so thick and cool that it choked him.

Oh, how he drank. And waited.

He could remember when he would have found the boneless thud of her body hitting the floor immensely satisfying. Now all he could do was recall a moment, long ago but preserved in his mind, even though he hadn't even known he'd remembered. She'd looked like a child playing dress-up, wearing an oversized hat and sweater, slaying vamps with such brutal efficiency it would have taken his breath away if he'd had breath to take. He wondered if that was the moment he'd fallen in love with her...but he thought it must have happened during one of their fights, when he was feeling her breath on his face, her blonde hair brushing against and tickling his face, almost lost in the pain from the blows from her hands, her feet, pummeling, showing no mercy...it had been agonizing and intense and passionate and cruel and probably he had made her cry, oh yes, because he was evil and he had wanted her to cry, wanted her to feel pain, to feel...something...that would stay with her, reminding her...he was here. He would not be ignored or forgotten.

Would she remember him at all, now? Even if only to curse his name?

He wondered. And waited.

Finally he looked at Drusilla, shaking his head as his human guise slipped back into place.

"We've got to get out of here, luv. Leave Sunnydale. They'll be after us now, never let us be. We should leave this bloody country altogether."

"Ooooh!" Dru squealed. "Can we go home? Back to England?" 

Spike shrugged. 

"Why not?"

Drusilla danced happily around him, innocent and seductive, every inch his dark goddess, and he remembered when he had wanted her. Loved her so much it had almost consumed his every waking thought. But he felt nothing now but a sense of his own absurdity. Had he ever been more of a fool?

"Oh, it will be lovely. You'll take care of me...and I'll take care of you. It's all as it should be, now that you're my Spike again. No more faithful puppy...I can hear her Slayer's blood singing in you now, such wonderful singing..."

Spike laughed. It sounded hollow and haunted to his own ears, but Dru seemed not to notice. Or not to care, more like. She'd gotten what she wanted. He favored her with a humorless smile and a kiss that lacked even remote affection, and she started humming. Spike didn't mind. At that moment he felt like he was the one who could see the future, not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered, really. 

"You're right, pet. I'll take care of you." 

He took her hand and led her away. He didn't look back at the body. He didn't need to. The sight of his love lying broken and bloodless, by his actions if not his hand, was etched into his memory, ready in day-glo Technicolor glory whenever he wished. Pointless to pretend she was just another notch. That she was just another anything. She had been everything, and he had destroyed her. And there would be a price for that, one that he would pay every night until it finally ended. He would take care of Dru. And then they would come for him. The witch, probably, or the Watcher. At least one of them, one of the people Buffy had loved. At least, he hoped.

He hoped he wouldn't have too much longer to wait.

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